Pen Pictures of British Battles by Various

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Battles, by Various

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Title: Pen Pictures of British Battles
Author: Various
Release Date: August 23, 2019 [eBook #60155]
Language: English
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Cover

PEN PICTURES

OF

BRITISH BATTLES

Painted by Author

and Artist.

LONDON: EYRE AND SPOTTISWOODE, LTD.

1917.

CONTENTS.

Page

I.—The Victory of the Falkland Islands

By Dr. Richard Wilson.

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II.—The Battle of the Marne

By Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

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III.—A Glimpse of Canada in Flanders

By Lord Beaverbrook.

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IV.—The Second Battle of Ypres

By John Buchan.

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V.—The Battle of Jutland Bank

By H. W. Wilson.

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VI.—The Charge at Loos of the London Irish
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VII.—The Landing at V Beach, near Sedd-el-Bahr

By John Masefield.

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VIII.—The Coldstream Guards at the Battle of the Somme

By Philip Gibbs.

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IX.—The Moonlight Battle for Baghdad

By Edmund Candler.

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X.—The Battle of Arras

By Philip Gibbs.

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XI.—Warfare under Water

By Rudyard Kipling.

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EDITOR’S NOTE.

Though Sir Walter Besant called War correspondents “the scene painters of history,” it may be questioned whether any

pen or brush, trained on the land, sea and air battles of the present War, can depict more than a corner of the great
devastating drama.

This little book, embracing extracts from famous books, may help the reader to visualise some of the outstanding battles

in which Britain has played a not inconspicuous part; and if they inspire those still fighting, and those behind them in support,
with a firmer confidence and a greater endurance—if, too, these records of undaunted heroism, often against odds, enlighten
readers in other lands as to the character of British fighting men—their publication in this informal style will be justified.

Full acknowledgment is here made to the authors and publishers who have kindly permitted quotation; and to the

proprietors of two great illustrated weekly papers who have lent for reproduction original sketches appearing in their pages.

April, 1917.

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THE BRITISH VICTORY OFF THE FALKLANDS: FIRST STAGE OF THE ACTION BETWEEN BRITISH

BATTLE-CRUISERS AND THE GERMAN ARMOURED CRUISERS.

Reproduced by permission of “The Illustrated London News.”

I.

THE VICTORY OF THE FALKLAND ISLANDS.A

By Richard Wilson, Litt.D.

A From “The First Year of the Great War.” By Richard Wilson, Litt.D. (W. & R. Chambers.)

HE affair off Coronel put the heads of the British navy upon their mettle, and within forty days it was followed by a counter-

stroke, complete and effective. Silently and with steady determination, preparations were made to deal with the Scharnhorst

and her companions; and the man who was entrusted with the work was Vice-Admiral Sir F. C. Doveton Sturdee.

To the east of the southern portion of South America lies the British group known as the Falkland Islands. Due east of the large

island called East Falkland, Sturdee’s squadron came within sight of Von Spee’s cruisers, the British admiral having been helped in
finding the “quarry” by the clever wireless signalling of a lady and her servants who lived on the islands, and who were afterwards
presented with valuable gifts by the British Admiralty as some slight acknowledgment of their timely help.

After the battle off Coronel, the Glasgow, along with the battleship Canopus, had put into the harbour of Port Stanley, in East

Falkland. The former vessel had been damaged, but she was quickly repaired; and when Admiral Sturdee arrived from home, she took
her place in his squadron, her officers and men being eager to set things right with the Germans. It was reported that Von Spee’s
squadron was going to make a raid on the Falklands; but when he came round Cape Horn he found awaiting him eight British ships of
war, and, so far as we know, this was a complete surprise to him.

At about half-past nine in the morning the Gneisenau and the Nürnberg drew near to Port Stanley Harbour with their guns trained

on the wireless station. Between them and the harbour was a long low stretch of land running eastward, behind which lay the Canopus.
The surprise of the Germans must have been great when they were met by a smart fire across this low-lying land at a range of about six
miles! The two ships stopped, considered, and turned away, hoisting their colours, however, as they did so. About the same time the
Invincible sighted other hostile ships between nine and ten miles distant; and in a short time the British squadron was moving from the
harbour towards the enemy’s five ships, which could be plainly seen to the south-east. The day was fine, with a calm sea, a bright sun, a
clear sky, and a light breeze from the north-west.

The British vessels at once began a chase in extended order, and the hearts of our men must have been deeply stirred by the

admiral’s simple signal, “God save the King!” One of the signallers afterwards wrote: “It was taken up and flung far and wide through
space by each of the fleet in turn, until it seemed as though it would never cease. I consider it a privilege to have been one of the few to
bear the signal.” A little after noon Admiral Sturdee came within suitable range of the five enemy ships, and decided to attack with the
Invincible, the Inflexible, and the Glasgow. How the officers and crew of the last-named vessel had longed for this happy moment!

The signal was given, “Open fire and engage the enemy,” and the Inflexible began the battle, followed a few minutes later by the

Invincible. This firing was at a range of about nine miles—no opportunities for boarding here, cutlass in teeth, and pistols in both hands!
—but the British gunnery was so good that three of the German ships turned away. Then the Glasgow, with the Cornwall and the
Kent, gave chase. We shall follow their work when we have considered that of the heavier craft.

The Invincible engaged the enemy’s flagship, the Scharnhorst, and the Inflexible the Gneisenau, the fight being a running one,

and the range varying from about eight to nine miles. Before long the German flagship took fire, lost one of her funnels, and slackened
her firing. “The effect of our fire,” writes Admiral Sturdee, “became more and more apparent in consequence of smoke from fires, and
also escaping steam. At times a shell would cause a large hole to appear in her side, through which could be seen a dull red glow of
flame.” Yet the German kept grimly on with her work.

The Gneisenau now gamely faced the Invincible and the Inflexible, but about 5 o’clock she lost one funnel and was on fire in

several places. She continued, however, to reply to the British gunners with a single gun, until, an hour later, she suddenly heeled over
and sank. Here is an entry in the diary of one of her officers: “5.10, Hit, hit! 5.12, Hit! 5.14, Hit, hit, hit again! 5.20, After turret gone.
5.40, Hit, hit! On fire everywhere. 5.41, Hit, hit! Burning everywhere and sinking. 5.45, Hit! Men dying everywhere. 5.46, Hit, hit!”

After this the officers had something else to do than make entries in a diary. Boats had been lowered from the Invincible and the

Inflexible, life-buoys and ropes were thrown into the water, and about 300 men were saved, “including their captain—a tall man with a
black beard.”

Meanwhile the Glasgow and the Cornwall had fought and sunk the Leipzig. Like the other German ships, she took fire fore and

aft, and as the shades of night were closing in she turned over on her port side and disappeared. The Cornwall began to lower boats
when the Leipzig was settling down, but the British Captain leant over the rail of the bridge and said, “It’s no good; she’s going.”

While this was going on the Kent was dealing with the Nürnberg, after a desperate chase with only a small amount of fuel to rely

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upon. When the engineers had done their best and worked up the speed well above the rate which the Kent could do “officially,” they
reported that their coal was almost used up. Then the captain suggested that the boats might prove useful in such a case! No sooner said
than done! The boats were promptly broken up, the pieces smeared with oil, and packed by the stokers into the furnaces.

This use of the boats had suggested other means of providing fuel, and soon the men were hurrying to the furnaces with officers’

armchairs, chests, ladders, and anything which would burn. So the speed limit was much further exceeded, the Nürnberg was caught
and sunk, but not before she had put up a stiff fight. Fire was stopped on the Kent when the German hauled down her colours, and
every preparation was made to save life. As the ship sank the British sailors saw a group of men waving a German ensign fastened to a
staff. Only five Germans were rescued alive from the doomed ship.

Only one of the German ships, the fast cruiser Dresden, escaped from the battle, the clouds which overcast the sky in the evening

assisting her in getting clear away. The darkness closed in, but near midnight Admiral Sturdee received a message from H.M.S. Bristol
to the effect that during the action two enemy transports had been destroyed near the Falklands, their crews being removed before the
ships were sunk. So ended a memorable day in British naval history.

DESPERATE STRUGGLE FOR THE CHÂTEAU DE

MONDEMENT DURING THE BATTLE OF THE MARNE.

Reproduced by permission of “The Illustrated London News.”

II.

THE BATTLE OF THE MARNE.B

By Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

B From “The British Campaign in France and Flanders.” By Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. (Hodder & Stoughton.)

N September 11 the British were still advancing upon a somewhat narrowed front. There was no opposition, and again the day

bore a considerable crop of prisoners and other trophies. The weather had become so foggy that the aircraft were useless, and

it is only when these wonderful scouters are precluded from rising that a general realises how indispensable they have become to him.
As a wit expressed it, they have turned war from a game of cards into a game of chess. It was still very wet, and the Army was exposed
to considerable privation, most of the officers and men having neither change of clothing, overcoats, nor waterproof sheets, while the
blowing up of bridges on the lines of communication had made it impossible to supply the wants. The undefeatable commissariat,
however, was still working well, which means that the Army was doing the same. On the 12th the pursuit was continued as far as the
River Aisne. Allenby’s cavalry occupied Braine in the early morning, the Queen’s Bays being particularly active, but there was so much
resistance that the Third Division was needed to make the ground good. Gough’s Cavalry Division also ran into the enemy near
Chassemy, killing or capturing several hundred of the German infantry. In these operations Captain Stewart, whose experience as an
alleged spy has been mentioned, met with a soldier’s death. On this day the Sixth French Army was fighting a considerable action upon
the British left in the vicinity of Soissons, the Germans making a stand in order to give time for their impedimenta to get over the river. In
this they succeeded, so that when the Allied Forces reached the Aisne, which is an unfordable stream some sixty yards from bank to
bank, the retiring army had got across it, had destroyed most of the bridges, and showed every sign of being prepared to dispute the
crossing.

Missy Bridge, facing the Fifth Division, appeared at first to be intact, but a daring reconnaissance by Lieutenant Pennecuick, of the

Engineers, showed that it was really badly damaged. Condé Bridge was intact, but was so covered by a high horse-shoe formation of
hills upon the farther side that it could not be used, and remained throughout under control of the enemy. Bourg Bridge, however, in
front of the First Army Corps, had for some unexplained reason been left undamaged, and this was seized in the early morning of
September 13 by De Lisle’s cavalry, followed rapidly by Bulfin’s 2nd Brigade. It was on the face of it a somewhat desperate enterprise
which lay immediately in front of the British general. If the enemy were still retreating he could not afford to slacken his pursuit, while, on
the other hand, if the enemy were merely making a feint of resistance, then, at all hazards, the stream must be forced and the rearguard
driven in. The German infantry could be seen streaming up the roads on the farther bank of the river, but there were no signs of what
their next disposition might be. Air reconnaissance was still precluded, and it was impossible to say for certain which alternative might
prove to be correct, but Sir John French’s cavalry training must incline him always to the braver course. The officer who rode through
the Boers to Kimberley and threw himself with his weary men across the path of the formidable Kronje was not likely to stand hesitating
upon the banks of the Aisne. His personal opinion was that the enemy meant to stand and fight, but none the less the order was given to
cross.

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September 13 was spent in arranging this dashing and dangerous movement. The British got across eventually in several places and

by various devices. Bulfin’s men, followed by the rest of the First Division of Haig’s Army Corps, passed the canal bridge of Bourg with
no loss or difficulty. The 11th Brigade of Pulteney’s Third Corps got across by a partially demolished bridge and ferry at Venizel. They
were followed by the 12th Brigade, who established themselves near Bucy. The 13th Brigade was held up at Missy, but the 14th got
across and lined up with the men of the Third Corps in the neighbourhood of Ste. Marguerite, meeting with a considerable resistance
from the Germans. Later, Count Gleichen’s 15th Brigade also got across. On the right Hamilton got over with two brigades of the Third
Division, the 8th Brigade crossing on a single plank at Vailly and the 9th using the railway bridge, while the whole of Haig’s First Corps
had before evening got a footing upon the farther bank. So eager was the advance and so inadequate the means that Haking’s 5th
Brigade, led by the Connaught Rangers, was obliged to get over the broad and dangerous river, walking in single file along the sloping
girder of a ruined bridge, under a heavy, though distant, shell-fire. The night of September 13 saw the main body of the Army across the
river, already conscious of a strong rear-guard action, but not yet aware that the whole German Army had halted and was turning at
bay. On the right De Lisle’s cavalrymen had pushed up the slope from Bourg Bridge and reached as far as Vendresse, where they were
pulled up by the German lines.

It has been mentioned above that the 11th and 12th Brigades of the Fourth Division had passed the river at Venizel. These troops

were across in the early afternoon, and they at once advanced, and proved that in that portion of the field the enemy were undoubtedly
standing fast. The 11th Brigade, which was more to the north, had only a constant shell-fire to endure, but the 12th, pushing forward
through Bucy-le-long, found itself in front of a line of woods from which there swept a heavy machine-gun and rifle-fire. The advance
was headed by the 2nd Lancashire Fusiliers, supported by the 2nd Inniskilling Fusiliers. It was across open ground and under heavy fire,
but it was admirably carried out. In places where the machine-guns had got the exact range the stricken Fusiliers lay dead or wounded
with accurate intervals, like a firing-line on a field-day. The losses were heavy, especially in the Lancashire Fusiliers. Colonel Griffin was
wounded, and five of his officers with 250 men were among the casualties. It should be recorded that fresh supplies of ammunition were
brought up at personal risk by Colonel Seely, late Minister of War, in his motor-car. The contest continued until dusk, when the troops
waited for the battle of next day under such cover as they could find.

The crossing of the stream may be said, upon the one side, to mark the end of the battle and pursuit of the Marne, while, on the

other, it commenced that interminable Battle of the Aisne which was destined to fulfil Bloch’s prophecies and to set the type of all great
modern engagements. The prolonged struggles of the Manchurian War had prepared men’s minds for such a development, but only
here did it first assume its full proportions and warn us that the battle of the future was to be the siege of the past. Men remembered with
a smile Bernhardi’s confident assertion that a German battle would be decided in one day, and that his countrymen would never be
constrained to fight in defensive trenches.

The moral effect of the Battle of the Marne was greater than its material gains. The latter, so far as the British were concerned, did

not exceed 5,000 prisoners, 20 guns, and a quantity of transport. The total losses, however, were very heavy.

Apart from the losses, the mere fact that a great German army had been hustled across 30 miles of country, had been driven from

river to river, and had finally to take refuge in trenches in order to hold their ground, was a great encouragement to the Allies. From that
time they felt assured that with anything like equal numbers they had an ascendancy over their opponents.

WAR IN THE AIR: A DUEL OVER THE FIRING LINE.

Reproduced by permission of “The Illustrated London News.”

III.

A GLIMPSE OF CANADA IN FLANDERS.C

By Lord Beaverbrook.

C From “Canada in Flanders” (Vol. I.). By Sir Max Aitken. (Hodder & Stoughton.)

HE end of the month was marked by one or two very daring reconnaissances by Lieutenant Owen, of the 7th (British

Columbia) Battalion, up the bed of the Douve River, and by a great aeroplane battle.

The aeroplane battle occurred upon a morning warm and bright with sunshine. The conditions were admirable for flying and

observing, and, as usual, a German Albatross took advantage of them. Soaring high against the warm blue of the sky, over Bailleul, over
the headquarters of a division, over our brigades and trenches and back again, it glinted like silver in the morning sun. The snow-white
blobs of bursting shrapnel from our anti-aircraft guns followed its graceful sweeps and curves—followed and followed, but never caught

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it up; and thousands of our men stared after it. But a more dramatic spectacle was in store for the watchers on the brown roads and in
the brown trenches.

A British machine appeared suddenly low against the blue, mounting and flying out of the west. The men in the Albatross were

evidently so intent on their task of observing the landscape beneath them and keeping well ahead of our blossoming shrapnel that they
failed to observe the approach of the British ’plane as soon as they should have for their own good. They were heading west when they
saw their danger, and instantly the Albatross swerved round and sped towards home. But the British flier had the heels of the German
and the advantage of the position. It circled and dipped, and down through the clear air aloft came the rippling “tap-tap-tap” of the
aërial machine-guns. Again and again the enemy’s frantic efforts to escape were frustrated by the skill and daring of the British pilot and
the hedging fire of the British guns. Suddenly the gun of the German ’plane jammed and ceased; the pilot was hit and wounded; the
Albatross commenced a rapid descent, in which it was followed by the British ’plane to within 1,000 feet of the ground. Then, under
heavy shell-fire from German batteries the victorious machine rose and flew away undamaged, and the unfortunate Albatross struck the
earth between the front and support trenches of the 14th (Montreal) Battalion and turned turtle. The German pilot was dead; the
observer, slightly wounded, crawled to our support trenches and surrendered. The German batteries kept up a hot fire of high
explosives and shrapnel on the machine with the object of smashing it beyond hope of repair before the Canadians could salvage it.
They made several direct hits, but our men sapped out to the wreck and managed to bring most of it in, piece by piece. Among the
articles brought in was the machine-gun that had jammed in the heat of the fight. This was found to be a Colt gun. Closer examination
proved it to be one of the original guns of our 14th Battalion—to whose lines it had just made such a dramatic return! The gun had been
abandoned during one of the desperate and confused fights of the Second Battle of Ypres half a year before.

In these months of September and October great efforts were expended on improving the line. Work in the front positions was

done by the occupying battalions, and the troops in reserve came up night after night to assist their labours and to create new secondary
positions and drive through fresh communication trenches. Even the training of new units was occasionally and rightly sacrificed to the
performance of this essential task. The weather was, on the whole, favourable for these operations, with the exception of three days of
rain early in September and a wet week late in October. The 1st Division, long on the ground and fortified by the experience of what
good trenches mean for comfort and safety, was pre-eminent in these exertions, as would be proved by the trench-map with its
continuous increase, month after month, in the black and zigzag lines of new work. Each tiny scrawl on the surface of such a map
represents the labours of hundreds of men, extended over many nights. Second and third lines grew apace, so that a sudden attack of
the enemy would still leave trenches to be held and would reduce the German bite to mere nibbles at the forward trench. The
communication trenches are driven true and straight from well in the rear, and up these the ration parties toil in safety night after night
under their burdens of food, water, ammunition, and R.E. material to feed the front line. These parties know well enough the difference
between well-made lines and bad ones. Stooping under the heavy weights as they struggle on through the dark, they will bless in army
fashion a smooth and dry surface underfoot and a sound high parapet which protects them from the casual German shells which are
searching for them, or the intermittent whistle of the long-range bullet humming on its errand in the dusk. Messengers or stretcher-
bearers with their burdens can move backwards or forwards even by day along the well-built hollow, and all those who pass are
protected both from the arrow that flieth by night and the terror which walketh in the noonday. Very different is the story of a badly-
kept line. It finds carrying parties struggling in, hours late, exhausted by wading through mud and water, and delayed by continually
climbing out and walking outside the trench to avoid impassable sections. Here an unlucky shell or a casual bullet may take its toll. The
men struggle back with difficulty, arriving hardly before the dawn, and with their period of supposed rest and recuperation turned into
the most arduous of labours. It is not too much to say that the efficiency of a regiment or division can be tested by a comparison
between the state in which it takes over and that in which it leaves its trenches.

The creation of secondary positions is as important as that of communication trenches, and on this task the Canadian Corps

worked unsparingly throughout the autumn.

The disposition of a brigade is two, or on occasion three, battalions in the front line and one or two in support or reserve trenches.

But in most cases even the leading regiments will not have their whole strength in the firing trench. One or two companies lie close up in
support or reserve to reinforce any threatened point. The nearness of these supports is a very present help in time of trouble, and gives
confidence to officers and men, who would be nervous if they knew that no assistance was nearer than a mile away in distance and an
hour in time. But these lines must be dug under cover of dark, so the men toiled with the spade through the nights of autumn and blessed
the dawn which put a term to their labours. Their record is written on the scarred earth from St. Eloi down to Ploegsteert. Let us hope
that the corps which took their place in March was duly grateful for the blessing of a well-constructed line.

YPRES AFTER BOMBARDMENT.

Reproduced by permission of “The Sphere.”

IV.

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THE SECOND BATTLE OF YPRES.D

By John Buchan.

D From “The History of the War.” By John Buchan. (Thos. Nelson & Sons.)

HE present writer first saw Ypres from a little hill during the later stages of the battle. It was a brilliant spring day, and, when

there was a lull in the bombardment and the sun lit up its white towers, Ypres looked a gracious and delicate little city in its

cincture of green. It was with a sharp shock of surprise that one realised that it was an illusion, that Ypres had become a shadow. A few
days later, in a pause of the bombardment, he entered the town. The main street lay white and empty in the sun, and over all reigned a
deathly stillness. There was not a human being to be seen in all its length, and the houses on each side were skeletons. There the whole
front had gone, and bedrooms with wrecked furniture were open to the light. There a 42-cm. shell had made a breach in the line, with
raw edges of masonry on both sides, and a yawning pit below. In one room the carpet was spattered with plaster from the ceiling, but
the furniture was unbroken. There was a Buhl cabinet with china, red plush chairs, a piano, and a gramaphone—the plenishing of the
best parlour of a middle-class home. In another room was a sewing-machine, from which the owner had fled in the middle of a piece of
work. Here was a novel with the reader’s place marked. It was like a city visited by an earthquake which had caught the inhabitants
unawares, and driven them shivering to a place of refuge.

Through the gaps in the houses there were glimpses of greenery. A broken door admitted to a garden—a carefully-tended garden,

for the grass had once been trimly kept, and the owner must have had a pretty taste in spring flowers. A little fountain still plashed in a
stone basin. But in one corner an incendiary shell had fallen on the house, and in the heap of charred débris there were human remains.
Most of the dead had been removed, but there were still bodies in out-of-the-way comers. Over all hung a sickening smell of decay,
against which the lilacs and hawthorns were powerless. That garden was no place to tarry in.

The street led into the Place, where once stood the great Church of St. Martin and the Cloth Hall. Those who knew Ypres before

the war will remember the pleasant façade of shops on the south side, and the cluster of old Flemish buildings at the north-eastern
corner. Words are powerless to describe the devastation of these houses. Of the southern side nothing remained but a file of gaunt
gables. At the northeast corner, if you crawled across the rubble, you could see the remnants of some beautiful old mantelpieces.
Standing in the middle of the Place, one was oppressed by the utter silence, a silence which seemed to hush and blanket the eternal
shelling in the Salient beyond. Some jackdaws were cawing from the ruins, and a painstaking starling was rebuilding its nest in a broken
pinnacle. An old cow, a miserable object, was poking her head in the rubbish and sniffing curiously at a dead horse. Sound was a
profanation in that tomb which had once been a city.

The Cloth Hall had lost all its arcades, most of its front, and there were great rents everywhere. Its spire looked like a badly-

whittled stick, and the big gilt clock, with its hands irrevocably fixed, hung loose on a jet of stone. St. Martin’s Church was a ruin, and
its stately square tower was so nicked and dinted that it seemed as if a strong wind would topple it over. Inside the church was a weird
sight. Most of the windows had gone, and the famous rose window in the southern transept lacked a segment. The side chapels were in
ruins, the floor was deep in fallen stones, but the pillars still stood. A mass for the dead must have been in progress, for the altar was
draped in black, but the altar stone was cracked across. The sacristy was full of vestments and candlesticks tumbled together in haste,
and all were covered with yellow picric dust from the high explosives. In the graveyard behind there was a huge shell crater, 50 feet
across and 20 feet deep, with human bones exposed in the sides. Before the main door stood a curious piece of irony. An empty
pedestal proclaimed from its four sides the many virtues of a certain Belgian statesman who had been also mayor of Ypres. The worthy
mayor was lying in the dust beside it, a fat man in a frock coat, with side-whiskers and a face like Bismarck.

Out in the sunlight there was the first sign of human life. A detachment of French Colonial tirailleurs entered from the north—

brown, shadowy men in fantastic weather-stained uniforms. A vehicle stood at the cathedral door, and a lean and sad-faced priest was
loading it with some of the church treasures—chalices, plate, embroidery. A Carmelite friar was prowling among the side alleys looking
for the dead. It was like some macabre imagining of Victor Hugo.

The ruins of old buildings are so familiar that they do not at first dominate the mind. Far more arresting are the remnants of the pitiful

little homes, where there is no dignity, but a pathos which cries aloud. Ypres was like a city destroyed by an earthquake; that is the
simplest and truest description. But the skeletons of her great buildings, famous in Europe for 500 years, left another impression. One
felt, as at Pompeii, that things had always been so; one felt that they were verily indestructible, they were so great in their fall. The cloak
of St. Martin was not needed to cover the nakedness of his church. There was a terrible splendour about these gaunt and broken
structures, these noble, shattered façades, which defied their destroyers. Ypres might be empty and a ruin, but to the end of time she
would be no mean city.

One of the truest of our younger poets, Rupert Brooke, who died while serving in the Dardanelles, wrote in his last months a sonnet

on the consolation of death in war:—

“If I should die, think only this of me:

That there’s some corner of a foreign field

That is for ever England. There shall be

In that rich earth a richer dust concealed.”

In the salient of Ypres there are not less than a hundred thousand graves of Allied soldiers, sometimes marked by plain wooden

crosses, sometimes obliterated by the débris of ruined trenches, sometimes hidden in corners of fields and beneath clumps of chestnuts.
That ground is for ever England; and it is also for ever France, for there the men of Dubois died around Bixschoote and on the Klein

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Zillebeke ridge. When the war is over this triangle of meadowland, with a ruined city for its base, will be an enclave of Belgian soil
consecrated as the holy land of two great peoples. It may be that it will be specially set apart as a memorial place; it may be that it will
be unmarked, and that the country folk will till and reap as before over the vanishing trench lines. But it will never be common ground. It
will be for us the most hallowed spot on earth, for it holds our bravest dust, and it is the proof and record of a new spirit. In the past
when we have thought of Ypres we have thought of the British flag preserved there, which Clare’s Regiment, fighting for France,
captured at the Battle of Ramillies. The name of the little Flemish town has recalled the divisions in our own race and the centuries-old
conflict between France and Britain. But from now and henceforth it will have other memories. It will stand as a symbol of unity and
alliance—unity within our Empire, unity within our Western civilization—that true alliance and that lasting unity which are won and sealed
by a common sacrifice.

BATTLE OF JUTLAND: FIRST SIGHT OF THE ENEMY’S

HIGH SEAS FLEET.

Reproduced by permission of “The Illustrated London News.”

V.

THE BATTLE OF JUTLAND BANK.

By H. W. Wilson.

HE chase and destruction of an enemy takes many hours. Nelson began his battle at Trafalgar at noon, or soon after; the

Germans took good care not to engage before the afternoon was well advanced. There was enough time to destroy a

detachment, but not enough to complete the destruction of a large fleet. The mist further diminished the advantage which the British
possessed in their heavy guns, and enabled the Germans to count on using their numerous 6-in. weapons with success.

Contact with the enemy was obtained. At 2.20 p.m. Admiral Beatty received reports from his light cruisers indicating the proximity

of the enemy, and at 2.35 the smoke of a considerable fleet was seen to the E. A seaplane was sent up from a seaplane-carrying ship to
reconnoitre the enemy, and transmitted back the first reports about 3.30.

Admiral Beatty at once formed line of battle, steering E.S.E. at 25 knots, with the Fifth Battle Squadron 10,000 yards off to the

N.N.W. The enemy (five battle-cruisers under Vice-Admiral Hipper, with light cruisers and destroyers) was now 23,000 yards distant.
Admiral Beatty seems to have decided that it would be unwise to wait till the Fifth Battle Squadron could join up with him and form into
line with his six ships.

The enemy, on seeing him, had turned S. toward the German Battle Fleet, which was steaming up from the S. some 50 miles off,

and he followed. At 3.48 Beatty opened fire at a range of 18,500 yards (or rather more than 10½ land miles), and the enemy did the
same. Six British ships with broadsides of 32 13·5-in. and 16 12-in. guns were now shooting at five German ships, whose broadsides
were 16 12-in. and 28 11-in. guns. Beatty slowly closed on the enemy till a distance of 14,000 yards parted the squadrons; meanwhile
the light cruisers were engaged with craft of their kind.

It was in this preliminary action with the odds in our favour that two of Admiral Beatty’s splendid battle-cruisers—the Queen Mary

and Indefatigable—were destroyed.

The loss of these two ships reduced Admiral Beatty’s armoured ships to four and his weight of metal to an approximate equality

with the German battle-cruiser squadron, which was still five ships strong, no single vessel in it having as yet been put out of action. At
4.8, Beatty was in some degree supported by the fire of the 15-in. guns in the Fifth Battle Squadron, which opened at 20,000 yards—a
long range in misty weather—and the enemy’s fire seemed to slacken. A submarine attack was beaten off by the vigilance and skill of
the British destroyers, which soon after 4 were flung in on the enemy in a great attack, meeting in their impetuous charge a German light
cruiser and 15 destroyers.

All through this encounter the battle-cruisers were still pounding one another and rapidly nearing the German Battle Fleet. From

4.15 to 4.43 he reports that the fighting was “of a very fierce and resolute character,” but at 4.18 the third enemy ship was seen to be
on fire. The haze had now thickened, and the enemy could only be dimly made out. At 4.38 the German Battle Fleet emerged from the
mist to the S.E., and was seen and reported by the Second Light Cruiser Squadron, scouting in advance, to Admiral Beatty, who at
4.42 turned in his course, steaming N.W. instead of S.E., towards Admiral Jellicoe and the British Battle Fleet.

The Germans turned in the same way, their battle-cruisers taking station at the head of the enemy’s line and pursuing Beatty. As

they executed this turn, the Fifth Battle Squadron closed them, steaming in the opposite direction, engaged them with all its guns, and

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then turned and fell in astern of Beatty, who now had eight ships in line, proceeding at a speed of something over 21 knots. The enemy’s
battle fleet was in action, and the Germans had concentrated in superior force on a part of the British Fleet.

The range was 14,000 yards and the enemy was getting heavily hit, while he was apparently not making many hits on the British

ships. After 5, one of the German battle-cruisers—perhaps the Lutzow, which, according to the enemy, received 15 or 16 heavy shells
—left the line damaged. At 5.10 the sixth ship in the German line—a Dreadnought—was reported to have been hit by a torpedo, and it
is just possible that she sank, as a huge cloud of smoke and steam was seen just after where she had been. The Germans were now
edging off to the E., learning either from Zeppelins or their light cruisers that the British Battle Fleet was coming up to the N.W. Admiral
Beatty reports that “probably Zeppelins were present,” though they appear to have been seen only by neutrals in the first stage of the
battle.

The head of the German line at this part of the battle was getting severely punished, and a second of the German battle-cruisers had

vanished, leaving only three enemy battle-cruisers in line. The first stage of the battle was over. Beatty had led the Germans to the British
Battle Fleet, which was sighted at 5.56 10,000 yards away to the N.

The position of the Fleet was as follows:—Beatty, with four battle-cruisers, and astern of him the four fast battleships of the Fifth

Battle Squadron, was now turning sharply eastwards to pass across the head of the German Fleet and prevent it from edging E. and
getting away in that direction. This movement of his would have enabled him to “cross the T” of the enemy’s line—i.e., to pass at right
angles across it, raking the ships as he passed, which is regarded as the most advantageous position that can be obtained in battle—if
the enemy had not turned. N. of Admiral Beatty’s ships was the British Battle Fleet, with three battle-cruisers under Hood on one wing,
and three or four armoured cruisers under Arbuthnot on the other. On a line generally parallel to Beatty’s was the whole force of
German battle-cruisers (3) and battleships (22), slightly astern of him, so that the German ships at the southern end of the line were out
of the battle—too distant to fire. The head of the enemy line was some 12,000 yards from him, and about 22,000 yards from the British
Battle Fleet.

Beatty’s eastward turn compelled the enemy to turn, and enabled the British Battle Fleet, if it desired, to move in behind the High

Sea Fleet and cut it off from its bases. To reinforce Beatty in these critical moments, Hood steamed in fast with his three battle-cruisers,
and swung magnificently into position at the head of Beatty’s line. There he received a terrific fire from the enemy, 8,000 yards away,
and a few minutes later the Invincible, his flagship, was struck by the combined salvoes of the German Fleet and she sank. Three
battle-cruisers were gone, and of their combined crews of 2,500 men a mere handful were saved. Beatty at 6.35, about the time when
the Invincible sank, turned S.E. A little earlier, Rear-Admiral Arbuthnot, with three weak armoured cruisers, struck the German Battle
Fleet, which was apparently almost hidden in smoke. His intervention prevented a dangerous German torpedo attack on the British
battle-cruisers, but in rendering this last service he perished.

The Black Prince was very badly hit. The Warrior was disabled, and in extreme danger. Probably the German ships were

attacking these vessels with concentrated salvoes—battleships of the super-Dreadnought class firing at pre-Dreadnought armoured
cruisers. The German shooting must have begun to deteriorate, as the Warspite was quickly got under control, and with but slight
damage rejoined the Fifth Battle Squadron, which was now taking station astern of Admiral Jellicoe’s Fleet.

At 6.17 this Fleet entered the battle. The First Battle Squadron was the first to engage at 11,000 yards, closing the enemy slowly to

9,000 (which is very short range indeed, and would allow the Germans to use their 6-in. guns). The light was very bad. The Germans
were shrouded in haze; their destroyers sent up thick clouds of coal smoke, which obscured an atmosphere already choked with the
fumes of bursting shells, and the smoke from the numerous fires in the ships engaged. From the van of the Battle Fleet never more than
five German ships could be seen, and from the rear never more than twelve. The British constantly strove to close, but were eluded by
the enemy, who utilised destroyer attacks to cover his retreat. But, difficult though it was to shoot with accuracy, Sir J. Jellicoe reports
that in this phase of the battle the enemy ships were repeatedly hit, and one at least was seen to sink.

The Marlborough, in the First Battle Squadron, specially distinguished herself, firing seven salvoes (if with all her guns about 70

13·5-in. shell) at a battleship of the Kaiser class; at 6.54 she was so unlucky as to be hit by a torpedo fired from a German light cruiser,
which she sank. She was the only British ship to suffer in this way. A great cloud of smoke rose from her and she listed violently, then
recovered, and nine minutes later re-opened fire. At 7.12 she poured 14 salvoes with great speed upon a battleship of the König class,
and drove her from the line.

The flagship, Iron Duke, at 6.30 engaged a Dreadnought of the König class in the German Fleet, hitting her at the second salvo,

which was a remarkable gunnery performance at a range of 12,000 yards and in the clouds of smoke. The enemy turned away and
escaped. The other ships of the Fourth Battle Squadron were mainly engaged with the German battle-cruisers. The Second Battle
Squadron attacked the German battleships, and also fired at a damaged German battle-cruiser, from 6.30 to 7.20; at 7 p.m. the British
Fleet turned S., and shortly afterwards S.W. The battleship engagement closed about 8.20, when the enemy disappeared in the smoke
and mist. He lay to the W. of Admiral Jellicoe’s Fleet, and orders were issued to the British torpedo craft to attack him. About 8.20
Beatty pushed W. in support of the light cruisers which had been ordered to locate the enemy’s position, and came upon two battle-
cruisers and two battleships, which he attacked at a range of 10,000 yards. The leading German ship was struck repeatedly, and turned
away sharply with a very heavy list, emitting flames; the Princess Royal set a three-funnelled battleship (possibly the Helgoland) on fire.
A third ship was battered by the Indomitable and New Zealand, and was seen heeling over, on fire, drawing out of the line. Then
about 8.38 the mist came down so thickly that the battle was broken off, the enemy fleet being last seen by the larger British ships about
8.38, steaming W.

At 8.40 a violent explosion was felt by the British Fleet. This was probably caused by the destruction of a big ship.
Beatty steamed S.W. till 9.24, when having seen nothing more of the enemy, he assumed that the Germans were to the N.W., and

proceeded N.N.E. to the British Battle Fleet. He says: “In view of the gathering darkness, and the fact that our strategical position was
such as to make it appear certain that we should locate the enemy at daylight under most favourable circumstances, I did not consider it

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proper or desirable to close the enemy battle fleet during the dark hours.”

STORMING THE VILLAGE OF LOOS: HAND-TO-HAND

FIGHTING IN THE STREETS.

Reproduced by permission of “The Sphere.”

VI.

THE CHARGE AT LOOS OF THE LONDON IRISH

(18th London).

VIVID account of an incident at Loos, which has become historic, was given by one of the London Irish Regiment who was

wounded during the charge:—

“One set of our men—keen footballers—made a strange resolution; it was to take a football along with them. The platoon officer

discovered this, and ordered the football to be sent back—which, of course, was carried out. But the old members of the London Irish
Football Club were not to be done out of the greatest game of their lives-the last to some of them, poor fellows—and just before Major
Beresford gave the signal the leather turned up again mysteriously.

“Suddenly the officer in command gave the signal, ‘Over you go, lads!’ With that the whole line sprang up as one man, some with a

prayer, not a few making the sign of the Cross. But the footballers, they chucked the ball over and went after it just as cool as if on the
field, passing it from one to the other, though the bullets were flying thick as hail, crying, ‘On the ball, London Irish!’ just as they might
have done at Forest Hill. I believe that they actually kicked it right into the enemy’s trench with the cry, ‘Goal!’ though not before some
of them had been picked off on the way.

“There wasn’t 400 yards between the trenches, and we had to get across the open—a manœuvre we started just as on parade. All

lined up, bayonets fixed, rifles at the slope. Once our fellows got going it was hard to get them to stop, with the result that some rushed
clean into one of our own gas waves and dropped in it just before it had time to get over the enemy’s trench.

“The barbed wire had been broken into smithereens by our shells so that we could get right through; but we could see it had been

terrible stuff, and we all felt we should not have had a ghost of a chance of getting through had it not been for an unlimited supply of
shells expended on it.

“When we reached the German trench, which we did under a cloud of smoke, we found nothing but a pack of beings dazed with

terror. In a jiffy we were over their parapet and the real work began; a kind of madness comes over you as you stab with your bayonet
and hear the shriek of the poor devil suddenly cease as the steel goes through him and you know he’s ‘gone west.’ The beggars did not
show much fight, most having retired into their second line of trenches when we began to occupy their first to make it our new line of
attack. That meant clearing out even the smallest nook or corner that was large enough to hold a man.

“This fell to the bombers. Every bomber is a hero, I think, for he has to rush on, fully exposed, laden with enough stuff to send him

to ‘kingdom come’ if a chance shot or stumble sets him off.

“Some of the sights were awful in the hand-to-hand struggle, for, of course, that is the worst part. Our own second in command,

Major Beresford, was badly wounded. Captain and Adjutant Hamilton, though shot through the knee just after leaving our trench, was
discovered still limping on at the second German trench, and had to be placed under arrest to prevent his going on till he bled to death.

“They got the worst of it, though, when it came to cold steel, which they can’t stand, and they ran like hares. So having left a

number of men in the first trench, we went on to the second and then the third, after which other regiments came up to our relief, and
together we took Loos. It wasn’t really our job at all to take Loos, but we were swept on by the enthusiasm, I suppose, and all day
long we were at it, clearing house after house, or rather what was left of the houses—stabbing and shooting and bombing till one felt
ready to drop dead oneself. We wiped the 22nd Silesian Regiment right out, but it was horrible to work on with the cries of the
wounded all round.”

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BRITISH TROOPS IN ACTION ON THE GALLIPOLI

PENINSULA.

Reproduced by permission of “The Illustrated London News.”

VII.

THE LANDING AT V BEACH, NEAR SEDD-EL-BAHR.E

By John Masefield.

E From “Gallipoli.” By John Masefield. (Heinemann.)

HE men told off for this landing were: the Dublin Fusiliers, the Munster Fusiliers, half a battalion of the Hampshire Regiment, and

the West Riding Field Company.

Three companies of the Dublin Fusiliers were to land from towed lighters, the rest of the party from a tramp steamer, the collier

River Clyde. This ship, a conspicuous seamark at Cape Helles throughout the rest of the campaign, had been altered to carry and land
troops. Great gangways or entry ports had been cut in her sides on the level of her between decks, and platforms had been built out
upon her sides below these, so that men might run from her in a hurry. The plan was to beach her as near the shore as possible, and then
drag or sweep the lighters, which she towed, into position between her and the shore, so as to make a kind of boat bridge from her to
the beach. When the lighters were so moored as to make this bridge, the entry ports were to be opened, the waiting troops were to rush
out on to the external platforms, run from them on to the lighters, and so to the shore. The ship’s upper deck and bridge were protected
with boiler plate and sandbags, and a casemate for machine guns was built upon her fo’c’sle, so that she might reply to the enemy’s fire.

Five picket-boats, each towing five boats or launches full of men, steamed alongside the River Clyde and went ahead when she

grounded. She took the ground rather to the right of the little b...